"Then rise, I say, and get thee part way down
The peak."
"'Twere easier," laughed Ertoghrul,
"Madest thou thyself like me as thin and small;
And I am tired."
A rushing sound ran round and up
And down the height, most like the whir of wings
Through tangled trees of forests old and dim.
A moment thus—the time a crisped leaf,
Held, armlength overhead, will take to fall—
And then a man was sitting face to face
With Ertoghrul.
"This is the realm of snow,"
He said, and smiled—"a place from men secure,
Where only eagles fearless come to nest,
And summer with their young."
The Sheik replied,
"It was a wolf—a gaunt gray wolf, which long
Had fattened on my flocks—that lured me here.
I killed it."
"On thy spear I see no blood;
And where, O Sheik, the carcass of the slain?
I see it not."
Around looked Ertoghrul—
There was no wolf; and at his spear—
Upon its blade no blood. Then rose his wrath,
A mighty pulse.
"The spear hath failed its trust—
I'll try the cimeter."
A gleam of light—
A flitting, wind-borne spark in murk of night—
Then fell the sword, the gift of Alaeddin;
Edge-first it smote the man upon his crown—
Between his eyes it shore, nor staying there,
It cut his smile in two—and not yet spent,
But rather gaining force, through chin and chine,
And to the very stone on which he sat
It clove, and finished with a bell-like clang
Of silvern steel 'gainst steel.
"Aha! Aha!"—
But brief the shout; for lo! there was no stain
Upon the blade withdrawn, nor moved the man,
Nor changed he look or smile.